


Dear Brother

by Alyss_Baskerville



Series: The Music of the Ainur [5]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Brother Feels, Brother/Brother Incest, Denial of Feelings, Heavy Angst, Implied Relationships, M/M, Manwë misses his brother, Melkor is his own warning again, Romantic Soulmates, but Melkor is just devastated outright, but he's softer this time, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24149485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alyss_Baskerville/pseuds/Alyss_Baskerville
Summary: "Leave me alone."
Relationships: Manwë Súlimo & Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor, Manwë Súlimo/Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor
Series: The Music of the Ainur [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1400869
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23





	Dear Brother

**Author's Note:**

> Mânawenûz = Manwë [Valarin]  
> Mbelekhūrūz = Melkor [Valarin]  
> Morikotto = Morgoth [Quenya]  
> Aʒūlēz = Aulë [Valarin]  
> Yābhananāz = Yavanna [Valarin]  
> ëala - [Quenya] refers to a spirit that does not require a body to be complete

_**i.** _

_Leave me alone._

But Mânawenûz does not listen. He never _listens._ He would not be his Mânawenûz, his foolhardy and sweet, tender and vicious, cruel and selfless brother — his very own other half — if he ever _listened_.

_You are distressed, dear brother._

He feels Mânawenûz’s gentle arm slide across his shoulder and upper chest, the warm, comforting weight of his brother pressing against him. Solid, reassuring, familiar, and welcoming. And his. Here. For him. 

_No._ Morikotto snarls, twisting and lashing out blindly behind him. He tears through nothing but cold, thin air. Not here. Mânawenûz is not _here._ He has not been here for millennia. 

Morikotto turns again. Stares forward, into the pressing, heavy darkness.

 _You cannot attend the wedding of Aȝūlēz and Yābhananāz like this, dear brother._ The lilting voice is gently disapproving. A slender, delicate finger brushes across his forehead, carding through strands of his hair that fall into his face. He did not bother to pin it back in any way, and now Mânawenûz is chiding him. Tucking a lock of hair behind his ear with a warm smile, as he does often. Gazing at him with those bright, light-filled eyes. 

_Leave me be._ Hissing,Morikotto strikes outwards again, unsure of where he is targeting but helpless to suppress the need to target something. Once more, his hand, searching, seeking, rips through thin air. It comes back to his side with nothing. 

_He is not here._ Has not been for millennia. An eternity, really. 

What _feels_ like an eternity, at least, and more — but just how much Mânawenûz feels the same, Morikotto knows not. 

But that is not the case. He knows. Very well. Too well. That Mânawenûz is not tormented. That he, _my brother_ — _that Mânawenûz does not **care**._ The traitor, the coward, the spineless hound of their Father, he does not _care._

After all, Mânawenûz is always _content_. Content to live in Father’s lap, nuzzling his hand, content to laze away in Aman, leaving the Eruhíni to their own insipid little devices, content to protect those who chose his protection as best as he can, content to allow those who defied him to depart on their own merry way, spurning him and disobeying him without knowing their insignificant little places — because just who, _who,_ are they, to go against his brother? Content to help others where he can, content to allow others the credit for his labors, content to surrender his pride for the sake of that vapid greater good — because to Mânawenûz, his pride has always been a price that he is _more_ than willing to pay — content to be a loving husband and a just king. Content to be selfless, content to be kind, content to be _good._ Content to be happy. Without him. 

It is not fair. Not right. Mânawenûz is at peace, Mânawenûz is _happy_ , and Morikotto — he is — he is simply… _not._

_Why,_ he thinks, but he knows why. 

**_ii._ **

_You are distressed, dear brother.  
_

_I am._ The words are a whisper, fainter than even the rustle of Yābhananāz’s leaves brushing against each other. A hand comes up to curl around the arm that he placed around his brother’s shoulder and upper chest. A head falls back to rest just outside of the crook of his neck, and a little bit of tension drains. _I should not have hoped you would not notice._

 _You are my other half, dear brother._ It is simple. _There is no chance that I would not._

 _No._ Mânawenûz sighs. He waves his hand, an almost absentminded gesture, and a zephyr dances its way into the halls and flits about him. It brushes against his skin to dissipate the recollection, a sensation that should have been pleasant. Mbelekhūrūz is not here. He left long ago. 

Millennia ago. Mânawenûz cannot even recall exactly how much time has passed since he has last seen Mbelekhūrūz. But his brother’s face is as clear as ever. Those zealous, flickering eyes stare back at him as he reaches to tuck a strand of hair that falls across his brother’s forehead up and behind his ear, so it is not in his way. _You cannot attend the wedding of Aȝūlēz and Yābhananāz like this, dear brother,_ he scolds. 

Bright mischief glitters in that gaze, belying the petulance with which Mbelekhūrūz speaks next. _I do not see the point. The affair will be mind-numbingly tedious._

Mânawenûz rolls his eyes, convinced that his brother is doing this on purpose, yet finding that he is not unwilling to respond. _You will find yourself one day interweaving your_ _ëala with another’s. And then, dear brother, you shall regret your words._

Now it is Mbelekhūrūz who scoffs lightly. _I have no desire to do any such thing with anyone. You know this, dear brother._ Mânawenûz ignores the pointed look in his brother’s eyes. 

_Except with—_

_No._ Mbelekhūrūz left many millennia ago. An eternity, really. That is what it has felt like, to Mânawenûz. He knows, though, that his brother would beg to differ. 

Of course Mbelekhūrūz would. After all, he is always _wanting_. Wanting to ascend past Father’s Theme, seeing it as slavery and too consumed by that want to grasp the simple, oh-so-very easy simultaneity of Father’s Theme and free will. Wanting to forge his own path, no matter if that path is forged through blood and death and devastation. Wanting to claim dominion of the fates of the Secondborn, ignoring the fact that they both know — Father has made the Secondborn’s fates beyond His reach, and beyond any reach Mbelekhūrūz can hope to achieve. Wanting to enslave the Eruhíni, to do exactly what he gnashed his teeth and ranted and raged that Father was doing. Wanting to prove Father wrong, so very wrong, because he cannot admit that he wants their Father’s approval above all — approval that Father had given already to him, if he had only not been so blind as to not see it. Wanting everything, everything he could possibly have — and wanting it so much, so fervently, so absolutely selfishly _that he would turn his back on me._

It is not fair. Not right. Mbelekhūrūz has chosen wholly, completely, to abandon him in favor of his greed for power. To discard everything that was between them — every memory, every promise, every bond — for his own desires. His brother has chosen his goals over him, absolutely and without doubt or regret. 

Mânawenûz sees that. He knows it. Very well. Too well. And he cannot bring himself to do the same. 

_Why,_ he wonders, but he knows why.

_**iii.** _

_Dear brother._ He cannot deny it to himself any longer. 

_I miss you._

**Author's Note:**

> I will never not believe that Manwë and Melkor's relationship is one of the grittiest, most complicated, most painful brotherly relationships in the history of fiction. They share a convoluted mix of longing, resentment, bitterness, and love for each other in my mind. Because of the fact that they were created off of the same thought of Eru, I see them as soulmates, and neither of them can be complete without the other by their side.


End file.
